My world is square

Friday, 6 May 2016

So, I was just listening to a podcast about the Resurrection Men and the stealing of cadavers for doctors and surgeons to dissect (cheerful, I know), when my brain got completely derailed and went for its own little ride. It went some weird places, and I'm going to share them with you lucky people.And so it begins...

"I had a donors card at one point. I wonder where that went. I wonder if Toben knows. I should tell him that when I get home.

I think I checked all the boxes. Oh. Maybe I didn't check the eyes box. Yes yes, that probably freaked past me out. Dems are mine. You cannot has. Yeah, that rings bells.

Huh. Present me doesn't seem so fussed. Did I read somewhere that eyes are the least donated thing because people feel all weirdy beardy about it? Yeah... yeah... YEAH! I did read that somewhere.

Maybe I should change that. Maybe someone should have them. I sure won't be using them.

Unless.

What if there was a zombie apocalypse once I'm dead? Surely I'd need them then. Ha! Can you imagine, blind zombie me walking into things and knocking things over... nobody would tell the difference.

Wait. Which side am I on?

Am I on team zombie or team human? Huh. Well I am a human, and all the people I know would be fighting the zombies. I'd be cheering for them. If it was a zombie film and they were the characters I would be hoping they all make it.

Apart from That Guy. There's always a That Guy, who gets killed about halfway through and everyone is kind of relieved because he was a giant pain in the derriere.

And I guess I might be watching like it is some kind of film, I don't know where I'll be. Hmm.

So would I be hoping that somebody takes zombie me out with a hatchet? It would still look like me. But all zombie-fied. That would be weird.

And what if the hidden bunker of the world's best scientists made a cure, and all the zombies became people again? Then zombie me would be me again. I'd need my eyes then. If a cure was going to happen I'd want zombie me to have the best chance of surviving till then, and you'd really need eyes for that.

But surely for zombie me to be me again, it would need to have been me the whole time. Woah. I'd have to be in there all crazy and wanting brains. Oh jeez.

*pause*

I don't really know what just happened, but I better write this down."

Monday, 31 August 2015

This is a story of myself, some cuddles, and one dumbass. For purposes of clarification we'll call this dumbass Rilla.

I came into the flat this evening and Rilla, who usually runs to the door to greet you, jumped down off the bed and collapsed in a puddle on the floor. She then just lay there, yawning and blinking at me. Clearly I had to go to her.

Which I then did. I picked up the molten, liquid form of my kitten and tried not to drop any stray paws or tails that could not support themselves currently. Rilla still has a lot of play and fight left in her, so when you catch her like this you sure as hell make the most of it. So I lay down on the bed with Rilla on my stomach for a cuddle. She started to purr.

It was all warm and snuggly and lovely and fluffy and all the good things. Purr.

I was scratching under her chin and she had her head stretched right forward, you know that way all cats do. Eyes shut and everything. Her little fluffy head got lower... and lower. Little fluffy paws padding on my collarbone.

Some cat hair floated down and settled on my nose. Now, I only have two hands, one holding the cat so she doesn't fall off and the other the bliss machine at the chin end. I moved the latter for one second to scratch my nose.

What I didn't know, is that Rilla had fallen asleep. I had not realised that I was the only thing holding her head up. When I moved my hand, her head fell straight forward and she head-butted me right between the eyes.

She woke up hissing at my face, at the bed, at the whole nasty world where bad things happen to lovely, darling little kittens that fall asleep. So much hissing. So. Much. Hissing.

I did what any self-respecting pet owner would do. I laughed my ass off. I laughed till tears were streaming down my face.

She has since then been in a huff. She jumped down from the bed, went through into the living room and crawled into her favourite cardboard box. She doesn't seem to have any plan on coming out.

For the record, I tried to check that she's ok, but the little black furry boxing gloves coming swinging out of the box were having none of it.

Sunday, 21 June 2015

Here is a lovely Father's Day story for you all to enjoy. It rather fittingly takes place when I was born.

Meet our hero, Nick.

We join him one January night in 1989, walking home from the hospital where his wife and newborn daughter are. The streets he is walking down are paved with gold, whether from the sun setting over the Edinburgh skyline or from the glow in this happy man's heart, no one will know.

Looking up, he sees the sinking sun over the castle. This he wants to capture forever. This moment. This feeling. Luckily he has his camera in his bag. Fantastic.

He starts to line up the shot. Not quite right. Hmm. I'll try over here. No, still not right. Could do with being higher. Oh look, this building has scaffolding. That would be perfect for this photo. Yeah, I could make it up there. Great idea. So, securing his bag around him, he climbs. Two floors up he stops. The view is wonderful. Out comes the camera again, and he settles in to capture the scene.

Meanwhile, a curtain twitcher across the street has been watching a man walk up the street, stopping every so often outside buildings, then pick one, and climb up to a window in darkness. The man disappears in shadow outside the window. The curtain twitcher phones the police.

The station only being round the corner, the two policemen are there in minutes.

"Excuse me" comes the call from the street.

"Yes?" replies the voice from above.

"Would you come down here sir?"

"Hang on a minute, I'm not done". Completely unaware of his new status as a burglar, our hero wants to finish taking his photos. He does so, packs up his camera, and climbs down to the two, increasingly annoyed police officers.

"Hello," he says.

As they begin to grill him on who he is, what he was doing up there, and other pertinent questions, he starts to realise he might be in some sort of trouble here.

"What is in the bag sir?"

Uh oh. He thinks to the woman's clothing in the bottom of the bag, stained and a little bloody from waiting till the very last minute before going to the hospital. Oh dear.

"You probably don't want to look in there. I can explain." As soon as he says it he knows that he's really gone and done it now. There is no easy way back from this.

Before long he is in a police station, feeling a little like he'll never see another sunset ever again. He is also wondering what he is going to say to his wife in his one phonecall about why he might not be there to pick his new family up from the hospital the next day. Luckily it doesn't come to that, as sometime between then and the morning his story is verified. Grudgingly he was let go by the cops who probably had thought they had stumbled onto the case that would have made their careers.

Luck was on his side once again when his wife didn't notice that he was wearing the same clothes as yesterday when he turned up at the hospital. As if nothing had happened, he took them home.

A week later, he comes through to the living room and hands his wife a cup of tea.

Sunday, 14 June 2015

I am noticing a trend in myself in regards to the TV and films I watch, and in the books I read. I always fall in love with the nerds. What can I say? Smart people make me happy. So here I have compiled a list of folk that have made me air-punch with joy at least once.

Hermione Granger - Harry Potter Series
Hermione is bad-ass. There's no other way round it. Clever, intuitive and strong. The first time I ever cheered out loud while reading a book was when she punched Draco Malfoy. What really gets me about her is how resilient she is. All the she goes through with her parents in the latter part of the story to keep them safe, and she never lets on. Quite honestly she makes Harry's stomping, shouting and grumping look like a whiny bitch. And her face right at the end when she says "I'll go with you". Geez.

Giles - Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Every single time it looks like Giles was going to die in that show (which was surprisingly often) I could feel myself pouting at the screen. He is almost too knowledgable to communicate, but he tries his hardest. In his polite, professor-ish sort of way. Every library should have a Giles. Particularly because sometimes he just can't hold himself back...

Neal Caffrey - White Collar
This one sort of surprised me. At first look he's the frustratingly handsome but typically mainstream male protagonist. And then he breaks out all this passion for art and the history surrounding it and I sat back and went "Huh". Then I realised everything he does is part of some well thought out long term plan. This guy has the smarts. So Neal Caffrey is my nomination for secret, hidden nerd.

Daniel Jackson - Stargate SG-1
With this one comes my confession that terrible sci-fi makes me happy. Deal with it. What I like about this guy is not only does he possess the major smarts, but he is ethically intelligent too. He seems to be the only one in the show that reminds them all that there's more to Earth than America, and that there's more to exploration than technological and military gain.

Penelope Garcia - Criminal Minds
All hail Garcie, Queen of the Geeks. I love her. I am so glad women like her are represented on tv. Her world is bright colours, awesome shiny things and good people. And Doctor Who. I've said it before and I'll say it again; Penelope Garcia is my spirit animal.

Saturday, 13 June 2015

For anyone that missed the news, I got all my hair cut off. I went from this:

To this:

I was so done with having long hair. It seemed to take so much time! Washing it, drying it, working out what to do with it, then trying to do that with it. I really wanted something that was much less effort. That was my only criteria. I wasn't expecting it to be quite the learning experience it has been though.

Here are some things I have encountered on my journey:

* It is cheaper. I am no longer burning through hair bobbles. I am using less shampoo. This is very much ok with me.

* It dries amazingly fast. This is a bit of a novelty as my long hair could take all day to dry out completely.

* I am having far too much fun in front of the mirror just brushing it different ways to see what it does.

* On a related note, it is fun to see how easily I can turn myself into one of the Beatles, a five year old boy on picture day, Peter Pan, 1960's Twiggy, Liza Minnelli (brown points), Charlie Chaplin...

* I have discovered I have about one minute, maybe two, to brush my hair after I've washed it. Otherwise it points wherever it damn well pleases until I wash it again.

Monday, 11 May 2015

With all the name calling, blame flinging and general bad behaviour seeping out of the mouths of people who should know better, people who have fought these fights before, I feel compelled to make the following statements:

I am female.

I am young.

I am emotional.

I am strong.

I am not a villain. Do not blame the young becausethey are young. Do not blame a woman becauseshe is a woman. Do not criticise me for feeling something. Do not criticise me for feeling nothing. Do not criticise me for feeling different.

I am Scottish.

I am proud to be so.

I voted for the good of my country.

I voted for the good of my conscience.

I am not the enemy. Do not blame the Scottish because they are Scottish. Northern Ireland and Wales did not vote Labour either. Do not blame the Scottish because we are as proud of where we live and who we are as you are of where you live and who you are. Do not blame us because our cultural identity is strong.

I did not vote for our current government.

I could not vote for our current government.

I could not vote Labour.

I am not sorry.

I am not to be hated. Do not blame the people who did not vote tactically. Do not blame those who refused to jump on a bandwagon. Do not blame the people who did not vote the way you did. This is why we have a vote. We all want different things. Do not blame the people who voted Conservative. They are entitled to. Do not blame the people that did not vote. They also are entitled to.

The answer is simple. Blame the politicians. They have shown us how to hate each other. Blame the media. They have allowed themselves to be bought. All we have to make decisions with is biased propaganda.

Saturday, 2 May 2015

Hands down, the question I have been asked most frequently in the last six months is "How is married life treating you?"

"Exactly the same as before except now I have more paperwork to store" is apparently not the right answer, even though it is the truth. Nothing has changed. Personally, I'm glad; I didn't really want it to. But in every conversation I have about this, I come away feeling like I'm doing it wrong, like I am being silently judged, like that one kid at the party who pops one of the balloons and the whole room goes quiet and stares at them because that is not how you balloon.

Well you know what? Sod that.

Before we got married, we were happy. We cared for and about each other. We treated each other fairly and with respect. We wanted to spend all our spare time with each other. We made each other laugh - sometimes on purpose. Why on earth would I want that to change? After being together, and living together, for years, why would six months with an additional piece of paper in the cupboard make any of that any different?

I think I was "supposed to" change, to adapt to fit a gender roll. Be Mrs Wifey McWiferson. To do laundry because I Am Wife. To wear cute dresses and do my hair to look lovely because I Am Wife. To start reading blogs, books and magazine articles written by other wives because I am now part of some elite club that the poor unmarrieds cannot simply understand or relate to. Oh sorry, did I say that out loud? I meant to say because I Am Wife.

I won't let myself be one of those people who changes their entire identity into being just a wife. I have more to offer than that. I am first and foremost Squarah. My relationship status cannot come before that.

I hear so many people around me saying things like "I should learn how to bake muffins so I can be a good wife", or, "I was a good wife today, I hung all the laundry out on the line and now our house smells like daisies and kittens and lovely girly wife smells." Paraphrasing of course. There is nothing in this world that could inspire me to want to be a "good wife". I think I have a good relationship and I try to be helpful and do my bit, but I just can't bring myself to be so freaking hetero-normative.

Somebody told me recently that I should do something because it was "my duty as a wife". Naturally, I did not do it. I did not even consider it. I do not believe I have a "duty", but if I did it would be to be true to myself and do things that I believe to be meaningful in my relationship, regardless of what any other jobsworth thinks.

The biggest thing in all of this, I think, is that I don't identify at all with the word 'wife'. Toben and I agreed to call each other Thing One and Thing Two because we just weren't 'husband and wife'. And 'hubby' makes me feel squeemy and icky, so that's out. I know it makes it sound like we weren't ready to get married if we can't deal with being husband and wife, but that isn't it at all. We are completely committed to each other, just not to gender stereotypes.

I'll leave with this glorious little nugget. An older woman on the island said to me it must be about six months I've been married now. I did a quick count up because I have really not been keeping track (see above with the whole fail wife thing) and said that was about right. Her response?